Free Seeking Whom He May Devour by Fred Vargas

Buteil is stuck in his shack. Nobody’s moving, not anywhere. The sheep will all die.”
    “I couldn’t care less about those bloody woolsacks! They’re totally stupid!”
    “But Watchee’s an old man. He won’t come out, and he won’t move either, and he’s stopped saying anything. He’s gone as stiff as his crook. Don’t let him drop, Sol, or else I’ll have to have him looked after in an old people’s home.”
    “What do I care?”
    “Watchee’s gone like that because he was in the hills when the wolf attacked and he wasn’t able to come to Suzanne’s aid.”
    “And I was in bed! Asleep!”
    Camille could hear Soliman burst into tears.
    “Suzanne always insisted you slept lots. You were doing what she wanted you to do. It’s not your fault.”
    “Why didn’t she wake me?”
    “Because she didn’t want you to get in harm’s way. You were her little prince.”
    Camille leaned her hand on the door.
    “That’s what she said, you know.”
    Camille went out and walked back up towards the pen. The medium
gendarme
stopped her halfway.
    “What’s he up to?” he asked.
    “He’s crying,” she replied wearily. “It’s difficult having a conversation with someone locked in the toilet.”
    “I know,” the
gendarme
agreed, as if he had frequently tried to converse with people locked in their toilets. “Psychology’s late,” he said with a glance at his watch. “Don’t know what they’re playing at.”
    “What’s the doctor saying?”
    “Same thing as your trapper. Throat cut. Cut. Between three and four this morning. Toothmarks still can’t be seen properly. Have to clean her up first. But he says it won’t be very clear in any case. It’s not like the teeth had been stuck into modelling clay, right?”
    Camille nodded. “Is Watchee still inside?”
    “Yes. We’re afraid he’ll turn into a statue.”
    “You could ask psychology to take a look at him.”
    The
gendarme
shook his head, adamant.
    “No, it’s not worth it,” he declared. “Watchee is as tough as old bootleather. Psychology would have about as much effect on him as peeing on a tree-trunk.”
    “Is that right?” Camille said. “Would you mind telling me your name?”
    “Lemirail. Justin Lemirail.”
    “Thank you.”
    Camille went on her way, swinging her arms.
    She joined Johnstone beside the motorbike and put on her helmet without a word.
    “Can’t remember where I put the bloody jar,” she muttered.
    “I don’t think that’s a big issue,” Johnstone said.
    Camille nodded in agreement, hopped onto the pillion and clasped the big man around his middle.

XI
    JOHNSTONE DREW UP in front of the house and kept the bike still while Camille dismounted.
    “Aren’t you coming in?” she asked. “I’ll make coffee, all right?”
    Johnstone shook his head without relaxing his grip on the handlebars.
    “Are you going straight back into the hills? Do you really want to go on looking for that foul wolf?”
    Johnstone hesitated, then took off his helmet and shook his mane.
    “Off to see Massart,” he said.
    “Massart? At this time of day?”
    “It’s already nine,” he said, glancing at his watch.
    “I don’t get it,” Camille said. “What have you got against the guy?”
    Johnstone made a face. “Last night’s attack doesn’t make good sense to me, for a wolf.”
    “But it must have, to the wolf.”
    “Wolves are frightened of humans,” Johnstone persisted . “They do not stand up to people.”
    “If you say so. But last night’s wolf stood up to Suzanne.”
    “Look, the old bag was the size of a battleship and made one hell of a noise. She was determined and she was armed. She would have to have got the wolf in a corner with no way out.”
    “If you say so. That’s what she did do, Lawrence. She trapped the wolf in a corner. Everyone knows that wolves go on the attack when they’re cornered.”
    “That’s just what worries me. The old bag wasn’t born yesterday, she knew damn well not to